sweethymns | Mι∂ηιgнт Ɠяιη∂

[ He wonders if this isn't unhealthy for him, this sudden constant in his life. The past few days have been spent on his day job, being called out on the odd injury and illness, checking up on the paranoia of the wealthy and the more pressing issues of the less well-to-do— it's all routine, really, though he must admit to the fatigue that builds up after each day of a full schedule.

Incidentally, the past few days have been spent pointedly ignoring the presence of The Grind, which seems to flit in and out of vision on his walks home. On a particularly exhausting day where he'd had to sit and listen to some pompous aristocrat talk about how she's certain that someone must have poisoned her drink— she usually never has stomach trouble— he really was tempted to give in and walk into the familiar cafe for a cup of coffee, he really was.

It's only stubbornness that barred him from paying a visit, but after the fourth, then the fifth day of trying in vain to shake off his mind's advice that he needs to unwind, Claude Aubert finally caves.

His medical gear in tow and his hair slightly mussed under his hat, Claude pushes into the warm space with a tinkle of bells, closes his eyes. This feels acutely like a defeat, even if the slight wrinkle in his usually immaculate three-piece vest-and-tie combo says otherwise: he's earned some respite, despite all his struggles to say the contrary. ]

Table for one, s'il vous plait.

[ who is he even trying to fool here ]

[The owner's dark wavy hair bounces as she turns at the sound of the familiar voice. Her face breaks out into a bright beam and she waves Claude over to an empty table.]

Welcome! C'mon in, it's been a while!

[Iona Oakes, without fail, always has a smile for her regulars. Doubly so when it was the Aubert brothers who pass through the entrance of the Midnight Grind (or in Gus's case, tumbling in).]

You're making me wonder Claude, does the door not appear all the time? Oh, and will it be the usual coffee?

[Currently, there's a small number of customers in the cafe, mostly young adults poring over textbooks and one young man napping on the one sofa seat they have in the cafe. There's someone else behind the counter that isn't Oren for once. A woman with dark skin (lighter than Iona's), fairly short and fluffy hair, and a set of long lashed green blue eyes glances at Iona and the newly arrived customer. Her chin rests on one palm, while the other lays on the counter top, giving the impression of disinterest, but she's clearly intrigued otherwise.]
[Currently

[ God, ever the ray of sunshine. One would wonder if she doesn't ever get tired of it all, this unbridled affection for everyone who happens to wander into her path, but he supposes that she would be a very different person if she thought of her energy in expendable terms. He does, which is why he finds all of it very exhausting.

And yet, he keeps coming here.

His smile is curt only to swallow some injured pride he hates having (he's not worth that pride, nor her attention), a bit distant from worn-thin patience that he tries to dredge if only to let himself relax here. The stranger manning the counter is a deviation that he isn't quite sure what to make of. Doubtless Gus has already tried to charm this young lady too (his brother never learns). ]

Coffee and a bite to eat. [ He turns his attention back towards Iona, sets his large bag of supplies on the floor. ] And to answer your question, quite the contrary. For an inanimate object, the front door to your cafe seems to yell quite loudly.

Ah, it was screaming at you to open it, huh? Well, better now than never.

[Save for the rare customer or two she would have Oren place a permanent ban on (it HAS happened, but less than one would think), Iona never found a reason to not smile at anyone who came inside. That's just her; the most optimistic and cheerful witch who wants to love everyone as much as possible.

(It burdens her though and it can have its toll; Oren is always looking out for the signs of wavering.)

Iona, thankfully, is not pressing him anymore than needed and she leads him to a table near the counter, not far from the new(?) girl. The witch pats the table and walks towards the back.]

Just make yourself comfortable and I'll be right back with your order! Oh yeah, you haven't met Monts yet.

[She gestures at "Monts," who gives Claude a placid smile ~~not unlike his, the one that is meant to mask~~ and a short wave. Iona makes a quick introduction gesturing with her arms.]

Claude, Monts. Monts, Claude. He's a regular by the way!

[There's a pause as if Iona's suddenly considered something.]

Just you know, don't be so... [She's interrupted by a customer holding up a glass asking for another serving of iced tea.]

Never mind! Work beckons!

[And there she goes, a busy bee of a witch... ]

[... Leaving Claude Aubert at the mercy of Monts.

With a second glance at her, it's clear to see she's what anyone would call quite pretty; she had a slender and willowy frame, long fingers, and long lashes. Compared to Iona who was bouncy and whose charm comes from being all smiles and the constant vivaciousness, this girl had a serene aura around her with thoughts that are unknown to anyone except herself. There could be something that could be called unsettling about her, but what it is would remain a mystery for now. In the end, it would be a mistake to say that she was absentminded.

She gives Claude a smile, a disarmingly sweet one that would throw off some people, making it quite obvious that she's sizing him up.]

If she didn't make it clear enough, I work here. So, hola.

[Another playful and quick wave.]

[ What a hurricane of an introduction. Claude barely has time to make a crisp retort about what exactly Iona means by "being so" before he finds himself left alone with this young lady and her inscrutable smile— he's almost inclined to "be so", just to prove a point to Iona (this is just how he is, thank you very much), but he elects to be an adult in this situation.

Or, well. As adult as he can manage in his current condition.

Folding his hands neatly on his lap, he fixes green eyes on his newfound conversation partner. Finds that there's something about that expression on her face that he relates to; amiability as a weapon, a tool.

He returns it in kind, a charming smile that doesn't quite warm his features. ]

I gathered. I sympathize. [ ah yes here it is, same old claude ] Do remember not to believe the things she says about me— I'm hardly a regular.

Ah, no need for that. [She waves a hand as if dismissing the "sympathy."] You get to see all sorts of people for one thing. Boss lady needs to learn to rein it in sometimes though.

[Iona shines too brightly sometimes, even Monts has to tell her to tone it down.]

Mm. And you say that, but she remembers your name, and from the sound of it, you've been here more than once and you see the door a lot. That's regular status, unfortunately.

[ Internal groan...except no, this is a bit of a question he's had, so he might as well try to fish for some answers while he can. ]

About the door, then. I understand that ostensibly unremarkable people like myself are rarely given the opportunity to find it.

[ Self-deprecating and patronizing at the same time, he's still got that technique down pat. ]

But. If the door were so inclined to appear even when I wasn't looking for it or strictly needed a cup of coffee, would one consider that to be a malfunction on the part of this 'magic', or is it a part of Miss Iona's wishful thinking that makes her insist that I retain regular status?

[ the most roundabout way to ask: "please tell me that the fact that I keep coming here is purely accidental or because Iona is rude". ]

So nothing special about you at all?

[Monts looks mildly surprised and even more so with his inquiry. She taps her cheek, thinking.]

To be frank, I'm not the best person to ask. The door doesn't really malfunction. It's just there. Iona says she doesn't do anything special to it besides decorate the interior to her heart's content.

[A shrug and Monts stretches out her arms in front of her.]

You're making it sound like you have terrible luck.

I see.

[ Curious. It bothers Claude somewhat that the guidelines to how this place works are missing, because it's ludicrous that there aren't any— he subscribes to the rules of pragnanz, that the world runs in a familiar, cognitive order that allows humans to compartmentalize what they see as rules of nature. Resilient, immovable. Impartial.

His smile falters for a moment, and a flicker of annoyance creeps into his expression before he rights it again. ]

And don't I? [ have terrible luck, he means. ] It's too often that I feel like a charity case.

[Her reply is light and airy, but the weight is there when she says in a matter of fact tone:]

Then you didn't have to come in did you? And if she wanted you to come back, she can't make you.

[Is the door there because people want it to be? More often than not, it graces its presence for those who are already inclined towards abnormality and yet there are exceptions.]

What's the problem? You come inside and you get some of the best coffee this side of the multiverse. I'd say it's a win in this case, not charity.

[ Don't you use his tactics against him, missy... two can play at the game of being nonchalantly weighty, though Claude's patience is worn thin from a full week of dealing with inept, dim-witted people (in his professional opinion).

Being told that he can choose not to be here is grating. Of course he knows that— he hasn't an excuse for being here aside from sentimentalism, and that's more than unacceptable to him on very many levels.

Despite that thought, he keeps his polite smile relatively placid. ]

She's taken my brother's heart hostage. I've no choice in the matter at all. [ Using Gus as an excuse is also a cause for sharp self-loathing, and he almost retracts that the moment it leaves his mouth; he elects not to. ] I suppose I'm here on the benefit of the good graces he's made— but, ah. I'll try not to bore you with those trifles, hm? How rude of me, to keep talking while a lady is present.

[ A deceptively debonair comment. Acting, of course. ]

Edited 2016-05-16 06:33 (UTC)

[It's hard to tell with Monts (it always is), but there is a minor irateness that's been developing the more she talks with Claude. At first she couldn't put her finger on it, but when he evades again and smiles she catches on; they're both actors.

Well, they do say there are people who dislike those who are similar to them.

A brother though? Oh, yes Monts can connect the dots quickly enough.]

Oh, him? The tall one with blue eyes? [He was cute, but hopeless. Monts found him likable though.]

Definitely wouldn't be the first...

Yes, that would be him.

[ He's surprised she made the connection, given that Gus is a sharp 180 with respect to looks and demeanor from angular, crisp Claude. His brother is all soft curves and gentle arcs, the only creases in him from the rumples he makes in his expensive attire; maybe that's it, maybe it's the circumstances of their wealth that make them obviously connected.

Claude is cynical about that.

A short ghost of a laugh, and he raises a brow. ]

But— ah, I'd like to hear more about the others if this seems to be a prevailing pattern.

Edited 2016-05-17 01:12 (UTC)

Is that because you want to have some ammunition against Jackie?

[she asks knowingly because yes, one does need to keep themselves armed against a ball of energy that is the cafe owner]

Oh? You make me sound so sinister.

[ Claude, please look at yourself ]

Do you think I'd need the extra help?

[Oh, boy does he. But Monts actually keeps that to herself.]

In my personal opinion, one is never without need of some help. And one way or another, she's going to pull the rug under you.

[A beat.]

Constantly. Especially when she wants to help.

[Remember the skirt ripping]

Edited 2016-05-17 01:34 (UTC)

[ He's actively trying to forget the skirt ripping ]

Well, I'll have to do my best to stay on my toes. Though I'm no warlock, unfortunately.

[ Just a doctor with a bad attitude. ]

My ammunition, then. [ 'Give me the deets', essentially. After a beat, he appends with breezy charm: ] Please.

[Oh, dear he asked nicely. Monts has honor you see so she crosses her arms and tilts her head, thinking about where to begin.]

... Well, even after she and Dom were over, he's still sweet...

Oh, nonononono.

[TWO HANDS ON EITHER SIDE OF MONTS HEAD although Monts is barely perturbed by Iona giving her cease and desist. Claude's order is set to the side, but this needs her focus.]

I don't wanna cut your pay over trying to disclose my personal matters, hon.

[Iona's pouting, she's definitely pouting as she glances at Claude from behind her friend.]

And I made your coffee this time! Feel a little bad here!?

It's hardly personal if it's a matter of public record, is it?

[ Claude jumps right in on this with the most faux-innocent upturn of his lips he can manage, who is he trying to fool...

There it is, though. That pout. Maybe he missed that expression— it's been a while since he's personally triumphed over her this way. ]

As for feelings of guilt, I do believe that this is a coffeehouse, and you're obliged to serve your paying customers.

[ could he be any more of a bougie rich kid, jeez ]

I'm not obliged to serve you information about certain personal matters. Do you see that on the menu??

[She indignantly gestures wildly at said chalkboard menus... That aren't all that full. It's the charm of the Grind. Due to Oren being able to make almost anything as long as ingredients are readily available in their storehouse, Iona has yet to solidify a true menu.

HER POINT IS MADE HOWEVER]

Or you could just ask me directly. [Nods as if that's the correct answer to this minor mess.]

Edited 2016-05-18 05:38 (UTC)

[ And, without missing a beat, he looks from Iona to Monts with an ease that speaks to his feigned dispassion. ]

I was trying [ he says, with an air of infinite patience ] to strike up a conversation with your friend. 'Bond', if you will.

You just happened to be the topic of conversation.

Bonding? Perish the thought.

[wow monts]

... Yeah, that would be scary. I don't think my heart could take that.

[Monts gives a sigh and both the girls looking at each other and give each other a nod as if agreeing on this simultaneously.]

Mι∂ηιgнт Ɠяιη∂

claude aubert: "il faudra que je cours."

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